


De natura amoris

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Courtly Love, Historical, M/M, Medieval literature references, Mutual Pining, Renaissance Era, Trans Male Character, more or less lol forgive my inaccuracies!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: Poland sighed, and closed the heavy manuscript. "I think it's better if we continue tomorrow; if it's what you desire, of course."Then he left the room, with an unusually melancholic look on his face; and all that was left of his presence was the feeling of something left unsaid; the faint scent of lavender in the library's stale air, mixing with the smell of old parchment.---Amor, ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende.Amor, ch'a a nullo amato amar perdona.Historical setting one shot; on the nature of love, and how it can light a noble heart ablaze.





	De natura amoris

It had been quite a few years since Lithuania had moved into Poland's castle; and now that he had gotten to know him better, he was surprised of how many sides of his personality were not evident at first glance.  
First of all, he was actually shy, despite his apparently open, sometimes even arrogant demeanor.  
His initial cockiness was nothing but an act, and while Poland liked to act like he was the one in charge (and to tell the truth, he wasn't wrong), Lithuania could tell that he was not doing it in a mean-spirited way. Rather, he concluded, it was his need to protect himself, to avoid showing to the world his own weaknesses and insecurities when everyone else could be a potential enemy, surrounded as they were by stronger, more ambitious countries.  
And secondly, he was really bad at keeping a budget; you would think that the ruler of Eastern Europe would be skilled in managing his own economy. But all of the riches that Toris had marveled at ever since he first came to visit, the beautiful tapestries -so wonderfully refined that they could be considered true works of fine art, the marble columns of the palace, the artisanal furniture that made every corner unique, the oil portraits of the royal family, were all bought by spending money that Poland (or Lithuania, for that matter) could not _actually afford_ to spend, despite the increase of their own revenues that their alliance brought.  
But Poland was not satisfied in splurging money to decorate his palace: a big part of the budget went into things he bought for _himself_.  
Clothes of the finest brocade, and perfumes, made with extracts of authentic lavender from the fields of Provence, that he chose carefully and changed every month to suit his mood, and the season; different fragrances, but with the same base- so that people would be able to remember the scent when they thought of him, and vice versa (or so he said). Oils imported from the far East that made miracles when it came to the look of his hair- "makes it amazingly soft, like silk" (or so he claimed- and Toris could not deny that the care Poland put into his hairstyle was showing; but he couldn't tell if it was because of the oil, or just the way Poland's fair, fine hair naturally looked).  
Powdered pearls, to enhance his complexion; but to be fair, Lithuania thought, it was not like he needed any of that, as he looked like a poet could sing odes to his lineaments alone, and his ivory skin. Actually, Toris felt kind of jealous of his spotless, almost flawless skin, considered the freckles that spread all throughout his face- but when he had asked Poland to try some of his ointments and powders for it, he had scoffed him away, saying that it was a shame to hide something so beautiful and peculiar to him.  
"There are people who draw beauty marks on their face, Liet", he said, "and you want to hide the beautiful starry sky on yours? It's not like a pimple or anything, so like, leave them be!"  
  
And then, of course, the books. Since the late queen Bona Sforza was an Italian noblewoman, the latest trend in Poland's purchases seemed to be imported books from Italy: but since it was a language that he had not yet gotten used to, they just stayed there in the immense library, accumulating dust.  
While it wasn't something that Lithuania would have necessarily expected, Poland seemed to have a passion for literature of different kinds; Toris had tried to sneak into his library to take a look a couple times, but most of the manuscripts (and some of the printed books he had bought more recently) were in languages he didn't speak.  
Despite that, something that Poland had said had stuck with him: that a flourishing culture is one of the markers of a powerful nation, and he should "like, totally at least learn Latin, and French".

He made that sound so easy, but the truth was that while Toris knew how to speak a little bit of Latin (he had to, back when he had to learn at least the fundamentals of Christianity), he was having trouble with French, and couldn't understand why Poland suggested that language as something he should be learning. France was powerful, for sure; but it was a country so far away, and their culture was so different, so what was the point of that?  
He decided to talk to him about it, and found him in his library, again, standing on a chair to place a big manuscript and a smaller volume on a shelf that was a little too high up for him to reach.  
"You don't get it, don't you, Liet?", Poland laughed at his protests, looking down on him almost as if what he said was just foolish babble. Lithuania felt so ashamed of himself; was he really such a simpleton?  
"It's because after you learn the basics, the classics and the scriptures, you need to enjoy yourself with something more pleasant. Here, take this" he said, as he retrieved a book from the shelves, and placed it in Lithuania's hands, "I'll show you what I mean. Plus, you know latin, right? So French shouldn't be that hard, i'll totally help you out with that."

After Poland had found a place for his newest purchases, he told Lithuania to sit down at his studying table, and joined him after a short while.  
"What books were those, anyway?", Lithuania asked. "Still stuff from Italy?"  
"Yeah, you bet. That small one over there, that's a collection of short stories." Poland smirked, and gestured at Toris to get closer; "You could say that it's some pretty _licentious_ stuff, you know. There's one story, for example, where a guy pretends to be deaf and mute, to join a nunnery. And then, when he's in there..."  
The next words made Lithuania's face heat up with embarrassment.  
" _Poland_!"  
"What?"  
"That's _blasphemous_!"  
Poland could not contain his laughter at that flustered reaction, but Lithuania hardly found it contagious.  
"Oh, come on, Liet", he said, "a little fun in your life is like rubbing a little bit of garlic on rye bread. Makes it taste delicious, but it gets bad if you eat the whole head."  
Lithuania could not counter that.  
"I guess so... but even so, if it's against God, there's no such thing as a little bit of sinning. You either sin, or you don't."  
"Well, since when have you gotten so much into the Gospel, anyway? I thought you had a hard time letting go of your pagan beliefs, but seems like I was wrong, Liet."  
Lithuania was kind of hurt by that remark; he was trying so hard to learn, all for the sake of this alliance; but somehow Poland could not see, or didn't want to see it. He hated how he always treated him like a fool; like he was just a peasant, a barbarian, kneeling before a wise king.  
The silence was getting awkward; Lithuania staring at anything in the room but Poland, and Poland at Lithuania's angry stare, noticing that once again, he had spoken without thinking. It was then that Poland glanced at the book on the table, still laying there unopened.  
"So, about the book, I'll show you what I mean. This isn't quite as," he paused, getting closer to the other man and bumping their shoulders together playfully, " _sensual_." Lithuania felt shocked at the _lascivious_ tone of Poland's voice as he said that.  
"Po! _Cut that out!_ "  
Poland groaned, and reclined back into his chair. "Liet, you're like, so not fun. All rye bread, and no garlic for you. But onto this book. This is a true classic: _Lancelot, le Chevalier de la Charrette_."  
The way the polish language sounded, harsh and dry, was reflected in Poland's accent when he started reading the french verses; and yet, there was something languid and romantic about the way the words sounded, unlike the austere, heavy feeling of Latin.  
After Poland read a few lines, he translated them for Lithuania; whenever Lithuania couldn't understand a word or figure of speech, Poland would explain the meaning to him, and so on.  
And so before they knew, they had spent hours sitting in the library like that; and Toris found the brave, chivalrous adventures of Lancelot so inspiring, that he asked Poland to come back the next day, and read more to him. 

And that went on for a whole week, until one day, after he had gotten more familiar with the language- in fact, so much that Poland did not need to translate anymore until asked, Lithuania suddenly asked him again to stop reading.  
"What, you don't get this part? It's pretty easy stuff, Liet." Poland asked, slightly distressed by the serious tone in Lithuania's voice.  
"No, I do get it, but I think I might be misunderstanding something. Can you tell me what's going on, because I am sure I must be mistaken."  
Poland looked at the eager expression on Lithuania's face, and then back at the book.  
"Like, Lancelot breaks into the tower, where Guinevere is."  
He gave a glance back at Lithuania; he looked so _focused_.  
"Yes..." he said, to incite Poland to go on.  
"...and then, they like, spend a night of passion with each other."  
Lithuania suddenly jumped back into his chair, and slammed his hand on the table.  
"Oh, Po, come on! You told me that this story was not going to be of _this kind_! She's _married_!"  
"What? I said it wasn't _as sensual_ , but I never said there wouldn't be any romance."  
"That's not romance! It's _adultery_!"  
Lithuania was genuinely upset by the subject; it was a reaction that Poland had not expected.  
"But Liet, think about this: what's the difference between what we consider to be romance, and what we consider to be adultery? Lancelot's love for Guinevere is no less intense, and brings no less ennoblement to a man and a woman's souls, than the love between two newlyweds. Besides, as you know, marriages between royalty are arranged; there's like, no love involved, usually. Think about the way we allied in the first place! Do you really think our rulers married out of love, or ever loved each other?  
When it comes down to it, it's totally the same thing; if anything, it's Guinevere's marriage to the king that is wrong, and degrading."  
Toris could not believe what he was hearing; there was an unusual light in Poland's eyes, as he said that, almost- almost as if this was more than a simple intellectual debate to him. For some reason, the chills he felt running down his spine by looking into that spark in his gaze were more convincing than any argument could ever be.  
"Well, I guess it could be like that."  
Lithuania sat down, lost in his thoughts; after all, could love be judged by men? Could it be judged by the christian God, if he claimed to be a God of love? He remembered the way things used to be, when the Gods he still remembered fondly were the Gods of his people, and when love was considered as is- something natural, beautiful, a gift for humanity that the higher spirits had granted them. Lost in his memories, he forgot about the other's presence, and it didn't take much for Poland to sense the change in the atmosphere.  
Poland sighed, and closed the heavy manuscript. "I think it's better if we continue tomorrow; if it's what you desire, of course."  
Then he left the room, with an unusually melancholic look on his face; and all that was left of his presence was the feeling of something left unsaid; the faint scent of lavender in the library's stale air, mixing with the smell of old parchment.

The next day, Lithuania apologized, and asked Poland to continue with the reading.  
He had realized that he had been too harsh, and cold; it was never Poland's intention to upset him, nor to question anyone's morals. He just wanted to share his knowledge, and an enjoyable moment with him. And while his opinion on adultery did not change, Lithuania supposed that Poland was not wrong about the harmful nature of loveless, arranged marriages.  
While some things were considered morally wrong, and abhorrent by society- as long as it was not harming anyone, was it really so wrong to follow one's own inclinations, and desires? Was it wrong, also, to take back what someone else had unfairly taken from you?  
_And was Lithuania really in the_ position _to judge anyone else?_  
He knew of his own sins, and he knew that if he were to be exposed, even Poland might want to drop his own apologetic, almost too open-minded philosophy and get on the judgemental side. He felt the bandages on his chest tighten as he breathed deeply, his heart racing against the pain in his ribcage, galloping faster than a horse in a battle.  
He didn't want to lose his hard-earned closeness with Poland.  
Plus, now he _really_ wanted to know how the story was going to end. 

After they had gotten to the end of the tale of Lancelot and Guinevere, Poland had read for him (maybe to spite him for his adultery remarks) all he could find on courtly love, and the nature of love itself. A passion that from the eyes, ran like lightning to your heart- that was how the poets and philosophers described it; but Lithuania couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. It was true, he argued, that love came from the sight of your beloved; but without hearing their voice, and appreciating their brilliance and virtue, how could one possibly claim to be in love, and not just infatuated?  
"Liet, you're always so intense, aren't you?", Poland asked, holding the quill he used to take notes over his lips like a fake moustache. "Sometimes, you can just tell if people are good or not. When I saw you, I totally knew I would like you."  
"Are you saying you're in love with me?", was Lithuania's response to that, half-heartedly teasing him about his argument. He playfully bumped his shoulder on Poland's, just like the other young man always did to him; but instead of laughing it off, Poland seemed embarrassed, and not in the mood to joke about it.  
"I just... I was just saying, that I could tell that you were honest, and humble. Someone I could trust, unlike those snakes that come from the west; charming, for sure, with their compliments and offerings, but you can tell that deep down, they just want to rule over my land. They'd feed me to the lions, if only they could. Everything else, well... you came to that conclusion by yourself, Liet."  
The way Poland spoke, words as heavy as lead, hit Lithuania harder than he expected. He did not mean to change the atmosphere like this; there was a part of him that wanted to press further into Poland's last statement, but he decided to let it go.  
_What was he expecting?_  
He didn't know, really.  
But there was something unsettling in the way Poland's eyes were locked on the pages of his book, while his mind was clearly somewhere else. His pale cheeks were flushed so much that even the pearlescent powder could not hide it, no, it made them glow even more, warm as a summer sunset; the flutter of his light, blonde eyelashes trying to hide, once again, his insecurity behind a stubborn act of unconcern of what their conversation implied.  
Poland interrupted the silence; he sighed, and bumped Lithuania's shoulder back.  
"You read now. I keep going to sleep with a sore throat, Liet, because you make me read so much! It's about time you get better at speaking, instead of just reading."  
Lithuania wanted to say something; but nevertheless, he obliged. It felt so wrong to let him be upset, and to keep their relationship in suspense like this- a split in their mutual trust was something he did not want, but again, he didn't really know what it was that he actually wanted to come from this. It was much easier to move on, as Poland himself seemed to be eager to forget that their conversation ever happened.  
Lithuania hesitantly read the verses of the troubadours, stumbling on the accents and diphthongs, trying his best not to sound too stiff. Occasionally Poland stopped him to correct his French pronounciation, even when he had a really strong accent himself; occasionally, Lithuania glanced at Poland from behind the pages, and noticed how his earlobes were showing when his hair fell forward, and how when he blushed, the base of Poland's neck flushed with his cheeks. And when they ran out of poetry, and they decided that it was enough, they pledged on a whim to learn Italian together.

> _Amor, ch’al cor gentil ratto s’apprende_  
>  prese costui de la bella persona  
>  che mi fu tolta; e ’l modo ancor m’offende. 
> 
> _Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,_  
>  mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,  
>  che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona. 
> 
> _[...]_
> 
> _Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto_  
>  di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse;  
>  soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto. 
> 
> _Per più fiate li occhi ci sospinse_  
>  quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;  
>  ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. 
> 
> _Quando leggemmo il disiato riso_  
>  esser basciato da cotanto amante,  
>  questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, 
> 
> _la bocca mi basciò tutto tremante.  
>  Galeotto fu ’l libro e chi lo scrisse:  
>  quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante._

After a few weeks, when they had made their way through the entirety of the _Divine Comedy_ , Poland asked him what book they should read next, with a mischievous smile on his face.  
"Why are you smiling like that?" Toris asked, not getting what was supposed to be so funny about this. Poland snickered.  
"Liet, remember when that book I showed you a while ago?"  
Lithuania did, _unfortunately_ , remember.  
" _Hogwash_! You wouldn't dare!"  
"Oh, come on, Liet!", Poland whined, leaning on his shoulder, looking at him like a capricious child begging for a new toy, or a slice of candied fruit. "Please, please please! Pretty please? I bought it so that I could read it, _duh_. Besides, I thought you had loosened up a little."  
Now, Poland was just _teasing_ him. His smirk was telling him as much; and Lithuania wished he could just resist, and not get along with this travesty; but deep down, a sense of curiosity was taking ahold of his mind- and after a moment of hesitance, he gave up.  
" _Fine!_ We'll read that! But don't expect me to read it out loud. You do that; it suits your foul mouth much better, I think."  
"Excuse me?" Poland sounded outraged at the insult. " _Foul mouth_? Do you really mean that?"  
Lithuania did not know if he was just bantering or not, but the possibility of Poland being angry with him was something he just couldn't risk- not for his people, and not for the temper tantrum he would have to suffer through.  
"Poland, I was just joking", he said; or at least, it was his intention to say that out loud.

Because, before he could open his mouth, Poland's lips were on his; a fluttering kiss that was broken immediately by the one who initiated it.  
It was a second that lasted an eternity.  
Despite the boldness of his action, Poland's lips and hands were shaking; his fingers, placed on Lithuania's hand, tensing up and trembling.  
A light contact, but so heavy with meaning. A bolt of lightning, leaving them burned, electrified- maybe the poets were wrong, after all, maybe love was something that came from the lips- no, it was not that!- it came from closeness, contact; the feeling of complete vulnerability of skin on skin, fingers entwined and lips pressed, closing your eyes when someone's so close, so close they could stab you in the back, if only they reached.  
The unbreakable trust that came with knowing they wouldn't do it- even with a knife in their pocket, the gentle touch on your back could not be more than a caress, soft and delicate, a hand that worships every bump of your spine like it's the column of a sacred temple, pure, white marble turned into bones and flesh and blood.  
  
When the contact was broken, and reality hit them like a rock on their heads, Lithuania was flustered; his jaw dropping, he didn't know what to say or do. He only knew he wanted more, but was unsure how to express it. Once again, his anxiety was getting the best of him, lighting unnecessary worries in his mind like a wildfire.  
Poland looked at him expectantly, his pale lashes fluttering with uncertainty, looking for an answer that didn't come. Before his emotions could get the best of him, he decided to handle this the best way he knew: to act unaffected, playful, letting his armor take the best of him once again. His face cracked into a smile.  
"Now whose mouth is foul, you churl!"  
Laughing and leaving the other man confused, to say the least, Poland went to the bookshelf to retrieve the licentious book he was talking about.  
  
To Lithuania's surprise, so many of the stories in the _Decameron_ were actually clever; some even tragic and touching. And when they the occasional raunchy one, he would pout in disapproval, only to earn winks and smiles from Poland (who seemed to be having the time of his life).  
Occasionally, he would glance at Poland's hands as his fingers followed the lines he was reading. The impulse to hold his hand, to kneel before him and gently kiss his way up to his arm, was so strong; his self control, however, was even stronger. If love was a passion that spread from the eyes to the heart, he wanted to have more, to love more; he wanted to look at him, and never avert his eyes again- but it seemed to him that love could come from all of his senses; for listening to Poland's voice as he read, high notes losing their harmony in his strong, harsh accent, was making him almost drunk with love.  
And was his perfume always so enticing, so sweet? Maybe it was just a new one, but the problem was that every time Poland moved closer to him, Lithuania couldn't help but lose himself in the picturesque fantasy of endless lavender fields in a faraway land; the sweet scent of the flowers filling the air, as the sun made Feliks' blond hair shine bright against the clear, blue sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thanks for reading my fanfiction! My name is Ivan and this is the first thing I wrote that I ever post online, so be indulgent with me! English is my second language, so forgive me if I made any mistakes!  
> Big thanks to my boyfriend, for always being my first reader and fan, to Sia and Maddie for being my beta readers!
> 
> Historical references:  
> Queen Bona Sforza (2 February 1494 – 19 November 1557) "was a member of the powerful House of Sforza, which ruled the Duchy of Milan since 1447. In 1518, she became the second wife of Sigismund I the Old, the King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania."  
> Yes, crushed pearls were used in medieval times as some sort of "makeup", to enhance someone's complexion.
> 
> Literary references:  
> "Lancelot, le Chevalier de la Charrette" is a poem written by Chrétien de Troyes in the XII century. It's the first poem to feature the affair between Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, that is so famous nowadays.  
> The italian verses in the middle of the text are taken from Dante's Inferno, Canto V; about the story of Paolo and Francesca, a nobleman and his sister-in-law, who fell in love while reading the story of Lancelot.  
> Regarding the theory of the nature of love, and its origins in the sight of the beloved, it can be found in Andreas Capellanus (or in French, André le Chapelain) and his book De Amore (which inspired the title!), in which he also stated that true love could only be found outside of marriage.  
> His theories heavily inspired not only the french troubadours, but also the Italian vernacular poetry of the Sicilian School, the Magna Curia, which also inspired the works of the Dolce Stil Novo poetic movement in Florence; movement that Dante Alighieri himself was a part of.  
> The specific tale of the Decameron that is mentioned is the first tale narrated in the Third Day, Masetto da Lamporecchio. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the reading and that those footnotes will make you want to research further into the fascinating topic of medieval literature! Have a nice day!


End file.
